


Mrs Baudelaire

by Sinking Beatrice (Beatrice_Sank)



Series: Last of the Inked [2]
Category: All the Wrong Questions - Lemony Snicket, Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Accordion, Baudelaire Babies, Beatrice is a woolfian heroin, Being a Drama Queen, Bertrand creeps me out a tad, Drama, F/M, Olaf parents were murdered at the opera, Quit Domestic Drama, The Duchess is ever so thoughtful, and King, and murder, not my first language and a bit obvious here maybe, respectability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 07:52:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9225659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatrice_Sank/pseuds/Sinking%20Beatrice
Summary: "Mrs Baudelaire said she would buy the flowers herself."Of how Beatrice settled down.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueFloyd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueFloyd/gifts).



She was a respectable woman now. She told herself as much, everyday. She lived a well-ordered life. She has settled down.

That was for the best – she always added. That was a great luxury to be able to do so, and she was very grateful for it, everyday. She knew she was lucky. She knew she ought to be dead.

 

Or lightening fires but, in all honesty, it couldn't have come to that.

 

To those who had known her in her youth, the transformation must appear quite spectacular. Except for Bertrand. He was rarely surprised by anything. And he looked so normal himself that she often wondered, in the beginning, if he wasn't born with that middle part and smile, a strange gift of nature to society.

She was something else. She used to live on stages. She used to write epic poetry. She used to tame bats. She really fancied herself a heroin, at that time. Probably a bit too much. What should she do, after she succeeded? She had won. Their enemies were no more. And it had been, in retrospect, so easy.

 

She still dreams of how easy it has been. And because of that, when she wakes up in the middle of the night, she goes to the children's room.

The yellow paper they chose is very respectable, too. It carries no expectations of taste, no rigid specification of gender, and looks, all in all, sane. Looks sunny.

The two beds are close to each other, for the babies like, she has found, to communicate in their own way when the adults are away. Violet has managed to stick a plastic giraffe between the bars of the cradle, so that whenever she needs to consult with her brother over mischief matters, she can disturb his nap by squeezing it from her own bed, with the help of the cuddly snake toy Monty gave her for her first birthday. Clever girl, Beatrice thinks. And she smiles to the sleepy forms.

 

She wears blouses and straight skirts now, or pants, even overalls when she works at home. She never wears red, not anymore. Even her hair seems to take after Bertrand, for it domesticated itself rather well without her even trying.

This job made her realize she has had an honest face from the start. She sees it now, plain as day, on the old pictures (but she doesn't look often at the old pictures, because she cannot manage it). It is almost comical, how they all could take her for something grand, or something tragic, herself included. On stage, of course, she transformed. She could always do that, she loved it so much. Used to. What a lark! What a plunge! Emotions rolled over her in a storm. Things were different back then, but she still feels, especially with her children, she could always feel the waves.

So really, the difficult part wasn't changing herself. It was convincing everybody that she, indeed, had changed.

She likes being a teacher. The Duchess has most kindly provided employment, and the school is a forgotten, safe place, so she basically has had no choice. She knows Bertrand (and all the others, probably) feared she would be bored to death by it, but she hasn't been. Phrases.

The student are interesting, in their own ways – young idealists, too, so that doesn't make much difference from her tutoring days at the Academy – but they are much older than what she was used to. She had been monitoring (with more or less care, she has to admit) toddlers and children who, albeit being extraordinarily autonomous, were nonetheless prone to the most dangerous behaviors, while here the students were older than she had been when she was a tutor, and still seemed insecure and full of doubts, very learned, but very passive. They remind her of him.

The other day, she had crossed the school yard when the local fanfare was playing, and, suddenly, there had been an accordionist. She had walked through with calm. She had walked, calmly, to her office. Then she had locked the door.

People believe she hasn't tried to find him in earnest, hasn't looked for him properly, when she honestly has. But after some years, even if she refused to believe the rumors, she was force to admit that life had claimed its due. And it wasn't only that. Of course, she had expected a sign, anything, when the news of her engagement had been made public. Truth to be told, she had made sure that it was made even more public than usual, and all that she earned from it was that they had to postpone their honeymoon because their boat had, of course, burnt. But nothing came. She had no time to wonder if she had agreed to the wedding only to elicit something on his part. Bertrand was there, he was solid, he had asked. Life was claiming its due.

And she discovered, maybe later than she would ever admit, how extensive his good qualities were. It never ceased to amaze her. Now that she had retired from her old life, she finally had time to enjoy such qualities. He was rare, and she knew it, and most days she told herself she didn't come near to deserve him. He was such a good father.

At some point, maybe a year after Lemony's disappearance, she finally had that conversation with herself, the one she kept postponing, because something more pressing always presented itself. Life with him was so eventful. It was a romantic dream, full of flurries and smocking and poetry and flames, where she wore red dresses and her hair in disorder, Victorian make-up and ridiculous hats. They had so much fun. But maybe he came to enjoy the star-crossed lovers business more than she did. A bit too much. Lemony had always been bigger than life, she had known it, and loved it, but now she only wonders if life, in her perspective, hasn't shrunk considerably in proportions in the last years. She felt how they fabricated their story more than he felt it. When she refused to marry him that time, she was trying to write according to plan, to ratify the star-crossed status quo, to be regaled by misery, but deep down she knew the drama was fraying on the edges, that it was of the most horrid taste, that everything had turned sour long before that, because… Maybe he didn't feel it as much as she did because it wasn't his first time. First time doing it. She chastises herself for the thought because it is a bad one, an unfair one, she knows the story, ah yes but who told it first and then, shut up please, just shut up let me, let me think.

 

But she felt it.

 

It is not everyday that you go and kill your friend's parents.

 

She couldn't look at him, she couldn't touch him, she couldn't kiss him or hold him, they were doomed, they were dirty, dirty, so dirty it hurt and it was not a good story, it was a blood soaked plain boring cliché, and she wanted to erase them forever and most of all, she wanted never to see a stage again.

 

Eventually, she did.

 

She knows people resent her. The oldest friends came to see Violet, came to see Klaus, but they cannot be here as often as they would like, and those who don't resent her for what she did repel her a little so it's her who doesn't visit. And then there are those who resent her for everything. Especially Kit. But Kit always resented her a bit, didn't she? It is really ironic, because now she feels like she has turned into something quite Kit, a sort of quiet librarian with a twist, except it is far easier to play this part at 30 than at 15, and this makes all the difference. Good old Kit. Always the bravest one.

She teaches history of art, which is convenient, because she always wanted to explore more than one field. She hopes her children would be just like her in that respect. Bertrand is more focused, always reliable. She wonders what she shall think of someone who is as reliable as he always is.

 

At first, she checked everything: food, water, the furniture, locks, windows, carpets, books, fridges, fireplaces. It didn't help that Bertrand insisted they moved into his family house, where they are so many doors, so many bookshelves, so many curtains and corridors. She thought she was going mad, she really did, and then, one day, she ceased to notice. This is how she had always wanted to live. What had been denied to her. They were far away, maybe in time she would be forgotten. Olaf knew she had some ways of exerting pressure, and he hadn't been seen for years. He might be dead, too. So she allowed herself to forget. She knows she shouldn't, but there was no other way. You think you will pay for it every day of your life, and after some years it turns out that the rest of your life is an awful amount of time. So instead she tells herself, everyday, while preparing for her next class, that she is respectable now. She lives a well-ordered life. She had settled down.

Some days, she even believes herself.

**Author's Note:**

> So far, my headcanon is that Beatrice and Lemony killed Olaf parents that night at the opera, using the darts Kit had stolen. It seems to me that this part is canon, more or less, but I could be wrong. It is possible that Olaf believes Bertrand responsible because Beatrice married him, but somehow I like the idea that he wasn't there with them. It seems more coherent with the absurd portrait of him that we have in ATWQ.


End file.
